Amor Est Vitae Essentia
by makeup smeared eyes
Summary: The taste of betrayal is a flavour words alone cannot describe accurately. The pain of heartache is something no mere colours can paint in precise reflection. To be used by your soul mate is the cruellest form of punishment imaginable. Forget revenge. Cry
1. Hunc tu caveto

Disclaimer: I own the female character that is not named in this chapter, her soulmate and the story plot. That is _all_ for now. The soul mate concept and Circle Daydream are L.J Smith's.

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The taste of betrayal is a flavour words alone cannot describe accurately. The pain of heartache is something no mere colours can paint in precise reflection. To be used by your soul mate is the cruellest form of punishment imaginable to those blessed or cursed by such a phenomenon. And she didn't even merit to be penalized, she has done nothing wrong. Nothing except to foolishly trust and fall in love with a creature of darkness, a sociopathic demon who had the ability to absorb other creature's powers once he butchered them, despite the repeated warnings she received from all those who truly loved and cared about her.

_Fool_, she thinks bitterly, refusing to shed any tears burning beneath her aching eyelids. Now isn't the time to berate herself or let the guilt suffocate her bitter soul. Now is the time to fight for her life and avenge the ones who died for her, the ones who truly loved her. Now is her chance at justifying redemption.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye then, angel," He utters calmly, as if him about to kill his soul mate wasn't that big of a deal and something he did on a regular occasion. The endearment hurt her more than that cruel line his mouth curved, a wild feral smirk, challenging her to make a move.

She couldn't summon enough energy to form a coherent answer. Instead, she gazes up definitely at the lamia destiny has bonded her with; hardly registering the physical discomfort from her wounds as her soul shuddered and choked, shredding itself in pure agony. Blood seeped into her mouth as her bruises blossomed darker each passing second. Glittering triumphant eyes mocked her silently as her body struggled to remain upright. The strewn bodies of her siblings, five-year-old Alyssa, two-year-old Michelle, along with the charcoaled carcasses of her parents lump carelessly in a pile while torn limps and the almost undistinguishable remains of what was her best friends three hours ago, scattered randomly like Halloween decoration. He killed them all. He tortured them, slowly, for his own amusement, minced their body, disfigured their bodies, taunted their minds, broke their souls and leeched their powers all while she dated the sick son of a bitch and worshipped the very ground he walked on.

No more.

Her powers limited, her energy spent, her body so weakened and her mind so torn, she had a snowball's chance in hell of hurting him let alone defeating him. So she stood there, emitting hatred and visually castrating him with her fierce green eyes, wishing that she could turn back time and start all over again.

He laughs in amusement, knowing her every thought, linked through their soul mate connection, feeling her every emotion, savouring her sorrow, rage and grief like a child would savour ice cream in mid-July.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" She manages to hiss at him, wanting to get this over and done with.

He shakes his head, tutting at her, still astonished at how naïve she is even after all he's done to enlighten her about the world.

"You think I'm going to kill you?" He asks her coolly, raising an eyebrow to emphasize his derision of her.

"What do you want from me?" She demands weakly," You've taken everything I have. Why don't you just finish the job and kill me too?"

He sighs softly, taking confident steps towards her exhausted form.

"You've still got a lot to learn angel," He towers over her trembling frame," You have not suffered enough for death to relieve your pain."

And with those words said, he forced his lips onto hers before disappearing, leaving her sobbing on the bloody, cold floor.

She is lost. Torn. Salvaged and confused. Empty. Haunted. Desperate and depressed. A mere nineteen years of existence, and already an orphan so vulnerable and exposed. Weak. She has yet to learn her lesson.

That is how Circle Daybreak finds her, mute and glassy eyed, overcome with pain. Overwhelmed by shock, barely conscious and clinging stubbornly to life.

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It's not going to be a typical revenge story, that's all I can say for now. Any thoughts?


	2. Haec olim meminisse ivvabit

Disclaimer: Same as before.

Thank you _animus.vox _for being my first and sole reviewer.

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They ask her name. She shakes her head. They ask her name again. Again she shakes her head. It goes on like that for a while until they ask her to explain what happened. As soon as she finishes recollecting, they call her a liar. Delusional. Accuse her of schizophrenia even. A Redfern called Ash insists there is no such person called Kieran in his bloodline, made, born or adopted. She must be making things up. There is only a baby Kate Redfern in Ash's family and she is barely 6 months old. Another Redfern, Jez, nods stupidly at everything that Ash says.

A naïve human, the lover of the Redfern, Mary-something, shoves glass after glass of putrid tasting water at her, as if water was magically going to heal everything. Pah. Stupid humans.

She didn't catch the name of the organization, Circle something, but the leader, Thierry Descouedres, does give her a scrutinizing look and intone dryly that demons who could take other's powers didn't exist and there was no such possibility of something like that ever happening.

Resentment bubbles up in her guts. These people are calling her a liar. What purpose would she have to lie?

_Insane idiot_, she knew they were thinking.

Betrayed by her soulmate, accused of being hallucinating, they even have the nerve to unsubtly ask her if she is on any anti-psychosis medication and missed a dose or two! Then, her uterus decides to shred itself and cramps settles in, giving her a permanently 'lemon-sucker' face.

It took a while before a shifter pointed out she was bleeding to death before some swallowed their doubts of her being a spy for Night World and took her to a gigantic mansion she always grew up dreaming she might own one day as a kid.

The smell of her sweat combined with the antiseptic stinging her wounds and the guarded stares that follow every little twitch she makes almost forces her to loose the little control over herself she still possesses.

Just what is wrong with these people? Can't they just mind-read her torn mentality and find out for themselves whether she is to be trusted or not?

Someone is assigned to watch her while she rests.

She dreams of burnt flesh, helpless screams of her family echoing loudly, their last dying moments replaying vividly in her mind as her soulmate cackles evilly amidst the smoke and decay.

She cries out hoarsely in her sleep, twisting and turning furiously, re-opening her raw wounds, careless, unaware, as his image torments her even as she is recovering physically.

When she wakes, it is sundown, birds flittering and chirping chaotically outside, rushing to get home before night falls. The air is chilly and her stomach rumbles. She stenches of something awful.

Someone comes to take her to a bathroom where she sits in a bathtub slowly turning crimson, staring blankly at nothing in particular, trapped in her own thoughts.

Eventually, a lamia girl comes in and tells her to dress in some garments that belonged to a werewolf out on patrolling duty.

She dresses, hesitantly, reluctantly, mind racing.

She emerges from the bathroom, hooded and sullen; shuffling warily as yet another unknown face leads her to a dining room. The sight and smell of food makes her nauseous but she swallows the rising bile at the back of her throat, telling herself fiercely that throwing up on a feast at the host's house is considered rude and will get her sore ass kicked back out on the streets.

The utensils set on the table bring tears to her eyes as memories of her mother surges through her brain. Such a simple thing triggering enormous amounts of pain. She wonders how she will survive this world as an orphan. She can barely summon enough will to keep breathing. She has lost her will to live.

Dinner overwhelms her. Undisguised staring errantly fixed upon her as she shuffles her food around the plate with her knife and fork. She longs to scream, cry or punch something. Anything to rid the build up of tension inside her.

The final stroke for her is when a werewolf pounces on her, sniffing intently, declaring loudly something in a language she didn't understand. Her body didn't have the strength to sustain her anger. She faints. But not before white light erupted from her vision, taking over all her senses, petrifying her silly.

And all in the same day too. Why did it always have to happen to her?


End file.
